


now the day bleeds into nightfall

by wordswithdragons



Series: post through the moon [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, mentioned runaan/ethari more than anything else, our scarf boys are sad and missing rayla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswithdragons/pseuds/wordswithdragons
Summary: TTM spoilers. Callum follows Rayla into Xadia, but before that, he makes a stop at the Silvergrove.
Relationships: Callum & Ethari (The Dragon Prince), Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Series: post through the moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993681
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90





	now the day bleeds into nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> title from "someone you loved" by lewis capaldi.

It's a brisk autumn day when Callum reaches the Silvergrove. The leaves all around the clearing are changing to vivid orange and red hues not uncommon in the human kingdoms, but also vibrant blues and brilliant pinks. He thinks he'd be able to appreciate the view, more, if he was travelling under better circumstances. His fingers would feel numb even without the slight chill. It'll only get colder when night fully falls.

Callum knows he's lucky, too, that he reaches the Silvergrove somewhat close to dusk. It's a little tricky to picture the village secretly within the seemingly empty clearing, but he manages, walking around the village's unknown perimeter until he reaches what looks like the back of Rayla's childhood home. The tree seems to be the right shape and height, but he never got to see the back of it, and he was distracted in the Silvergrove. It had been beautiful and magical and broken her heart. As soon as they'd realized something was wrong, his focus had narrowed down to her.

It's not too different from how he feels now, honestly—even if she's no longer there to look at.

With wings, and no detours, it's taken only a week for him to fly to the Silvergrove, stopping and starting multiple times a day. His arms are still sore as he raises them in the air, conjuring up the memory in his mind. Rayla, smiling softly as she positioned his arms and taught him how to dance the key to her home; him, blushing and far less graceful and wondering if she already knew she had the key to his heart. He'd only danced with her, since then—but he manages it alone, hoping that it doesn't matter _where_ you do the dance to get into the Silvergrove so long as it's close and on the outskirts.

There's also a certain amount of fear lodged in his throat at the spell both working and not working. If it doesn't, there will be guilt, but the road ahead will ultimately be easier. One less hard hurdle to jump. He won't have to walk into a village of mostly human-hating elves amid highly trained assassins. And if it does work, then he has to. Do the hard thing. The right thing.

Gods, the things he does for Rayla.

The Silvergrove shimmers to life with its silver adornments and tree homes. It's beautiful, but all Callum feels is bitterness and dread. If the Silvergrove hadn't ghosted her, maybe they wouldn't be in this predicament right now. If elves weren't so stubborn and quick to punish—if they hadn't told her she _wasn't good enough_ —that it wasn't _all her fault_ —then _maybe_ —

Maybe she would have stayed.

Callum picks over the dewy grass and twigs to the back of the tree home he vaguely recognizes. There’s a backroom of some sort that leads into Ethari’s workshop with a hallway round the far side. It would be the smart way to enter, in the breaking-and-entering that Callum will surely be conducting in a few moments. No possible way for other, decidedly _unfriendly-to-humans_ elves can see him. But his heart pulls at him to go to the front in spite of how public it is, if only for a second, just to catch a glimpse of the pool and see if—

Callum reels himself back in. No, it’s only been two weeks since Rayla left. She’s good, but she’s not that good. There’s no way she’s found Viren in that time and it’s doubtful that something else dangerous in Xadia has gotten her, especially when without him, she only has herself to look out for. Besides, if—if her flower _has_ sunk, there’s no way he can handle that alone without breaking down and leaving himself willingly at the mercy of whatever angry elf stumbles upon him first next.

He steers himself to the back room door and tries the knob. It is locked, but that’s what Callum was expecting. He refused to be left unprepared again; not after Rayla’s departure from the Nexus had blindsided him so badly. He presses his palm over the keyhole and murmurs an incantation he’d been working on since their trip back to Katolis after the war. Ibis had lent him a book of runes and this one had been mischievously alluring. “ _Aspiro frigis clavis_.” 

An icy key forms in the lock, filling the edges and dips perfectly, and Callum gives it a turn. The tiny handle in his hand snaps, but not before he hears the click. He eases the door open, knowing the key will melt naturally on its own by morning if not sooner, and steps inside. 

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust. If the Silvergrove at dusk is dark, this room is even darker, with only a single blue light flickering in a jewel on the wall by the next doorframe over. But he can see it’s a sort of garage. Old bits of metal and weapons Ethari has thrown out. Some baskets and pots containing either dust or old belongings. Some tiny wooden figurines, blocky and horribly carved on the shelf by the light. A large _R_ is proudly etched into the corner of one and Callum smiles as he stops by it, before he swallows and remembers himself and pushes onwards.

The sort of garage gives way to what seems to be a kitchen with a dining room table nearby and three rather depressing empty chairs. There’s more blue lights here, casting everything in a soft glow. Copper pans are hung on one wall next to bunches of herbs tied together with twine. A silver flower sits on a pot by the windowsill that overlooks the grass he just trudged over. Swirling patterns cover the walls, resembling elven horns. Callum is so distracted by trying to tell whether any of them match Rayla’s (or are similar) that he almost doesn’t notice the kettle is not only on the stove, but boiling, and the creaking of footsteps.

It’s only when he hears the distinctive _shing_ of a blade being drawn that Callum whirls around to the kitchen’s proper entrance and throws his arms up, exclaiming, “Ah! Don’t kill me!”

The blue light reflects off Ethari’s sword and then his confused face, his brow furrowed even as he quickly lowers and stashes it away. Callum can tell that Ethari recognizes him, but not well. And given that they met once for maybe four minutes almost two months ago, Callum can understand why. 

“Uh, hi,” Ethari says, blinking, looking _dumbfounded_ and certainly confused, but not _displeased_ to see him there. (Callum will take it.)

“Hi,” he replies. Gods it’s already as awkward as he feared it would be. He lowers his arms and coughs into one. “Uh, thanks for not killing me.” 

Ethari still looks dumbfounded, if a little relieved that he hadn’t accidentally decapitated one of Rayla’s friends. (The feeling is mutual.) “Of course.” 

Not for the first time, Callum wonders what Rayla put in the letter she attached to the shadowpaw’s horn before sending it home. Ethari had needed—and deserved—a longer explanation. What Rayla had been doing with the Dragon Prince, anything she knew of what had happened to Runaan, that her mission to take Zym home had succeeded. That she was alright and going back to Katolis with him and Ezran; that he was a prince and Ezran was the new king. But that had been on the trip back to Katolis with whatever was left of the armies, and included nothing about the Nexus. Nothing in detail, as far as Callum knew, in regards to him. Or at least not what he is to her. Was to her?

Ethari takes a tiny step forward. “Caleb, right?”

He smiles. “Callum,” he corrects. “But close.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here, uh—” Oh Gods, where to begin? All his rehearsal on his way here wasn’t making this any easier.

“An understatement,” Ethari says, almost a quip, and Callum almost laughs, because at least this whole thing is awkward and absurd for both of them. Ethari seems a little more reserved now, too, and Callum spares a brief thought to wondering how much of that is because Ethari knows exactly who he is now. Not only that Callum is a human _prince_ , but that Runaan, his husband, had killed his _father_.

“Yeah, uh—” His fingers curl into his scarf for a moment, stalling. “Um, I’m here about Rayla—”

Ethari’s whole being changes immediately, his mouth taut and worried for his only child. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” Callum says and then winces, because he doesn’t know for sure now, and isn’t that the _problem_? Then alarm catches in his own throat. “Wait—her flower hasn’t changed, has it?”

“I was just checking on it,” Ethari says, looking a little relieved, if also embarrassed. Being emotionally vulnerable when Rayla had been the main recipient had been one thing, even if it was a bit more rare for a Moonshadow elf at any time. Callum, a human stranger, is another thing entirely. “After I put the kettle on. It hasn’t changed at all.”

Still, it feels like Callum’s lungs could burst from relief. Her flower is fine. _She’s okay_. It’s easier to breathe than it has been in weeks. “Oh thank the gods.”

Ethari’s concern rises right back up. “Should it not be?” he nearly squeaks, eyebrows raised.

“It’s—” Now that the relief is there, all it caves into is hurt, still twisted up inside him and tighter with every passing day. And somehow still not as heavy as it had been in those first few minutes when he’d realized what she’d done. “Complicated,” Callum says weakly. Suddenly, he’s so _tired_ , travelling day after day, beating his wings. 

Ethari must eye him and notice, because he gestures to the table and goes to get the kettle off right before it whistles. “Would you like some tea?” he asks. “We have moonshine.”

It must be a type of tea, and Callum just nods as he takes a seat, hoping he hasn’t taken Runaan’s chair. He watches as Ethari pours two cups of tea and tries to unstick the lump in his throat. A small white phial is poured into each tea and the drink glows silver like moonlight when Ethari brings them over to the table.

He takes a seat at the head of it and Callum knows there’s no stalling any longer. He has to tell the story. The _truth_.

“We went back to Katolis, like her letter said,” Callum begins. “And things were—they were okay.”

At the time, he even thought they were _happy_ , and he knows—he thinks—deep down that they really were. Curling up together in sleeping bags on the way back to Katolis. Sneaking her down to the castle kitchens at night and giggling so much they almost got caught. Rayla’s eyes crinkling at him as she tugged him up to the castle roof to stargaze. Going apple picking with Ezran on his first break day from being king. Hours in the library with him pouring over Ibis’ tome and his head in Rayla’s lap while she stroked his hair. Soft and firm kisses and whispered _I love you_ s. Falling asleep in the same bed when the weather permitted it and it wasn’t too hot.

But looking back at it now, Callum can see those were distractions. Detours away from the current of pain underlying it all, stealing away her sleep, making her fingers fidget. The grief and guilt and _goddamn bravery_ that had stolen her away from him. Him making her happy and her _being_ happy are two very different things, and Callum knows that very well.

“But Rayla was... restless,” is the word he settles on, although irritated and obsessed could have fit just as well. It was unhealthy and she knew it too. He knows she did, even if none of it was her fault. “Troubled. She had a lot of really bad nightmares. She couldn’t stop worrying that she hadn’t really killed the Dark Mage that stole the Dragon Prince and orchestrated the war. She couldn’t stop thinking about her parents and... Runaan and what the Dark Mage, Viren could have done to them.” Callum takes a breath. He’s owed that at least. “We got called away to the Moon Nexus to revive the Guardian’s moon phoenix, Phoe-Phoe. The Moon Nexus was a portal to life and death before the Moon Henge was disbanded. You could find the souls of the deceased that were bound to you by love and hate. And I had moon opals, so I thought—I thought it could _help_. If she could go through. So we rebuilt the Moon Henge and—and opened the portal.” 

The lump is back and worse than before and Callum takes a sip of his tea, not caring when it burns his throat. Ethari looks as grave as Callum feels.

“The portal is incredibly dangerous,” Ethari says softly.

Internally, he steels himself before continuing. “She started to drown,” he explains, as steadily as he can. “So I jumped in after her, and—” Ethari’s eyes widen, but Callum ignores the way it makes him self conscious. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. Of course that includes Rayla. Of course that _is_ Rayla. “We managed to swim to the surface. I—I’m sorry. She didn’t see your husband or your friends.” 

Callum curls his hands around his teacup. It’s smooth like ceramic, but made of some sort of Xadian material that he can’t quite place. And he doesn’t want to look into Ethari’s face, afraid he’ll see the expression he wore on the bench at the Moon Nexus staring back at him: _I think I did know, deep down, I knew, I just hoped m-maybe if I didn’t think about it—it wouldn’t be true_.

“But she did see Viren, and—somehow? She said he was alive. And she wanted to go after him, even though it’d be dangerous. So I said—” The tears rise before Callum can stop them, hot and angry and dripping down his cheeks and into his tea. “I said I’d go with her and we’d find him together. She promised we’d do it _together_ and then she _lied and left_ and—”

He sniffles, miserable, and mops at his eyes with his scarf before he glances over at a stricken looking Ethari. His eyes are still burning, but at least the anger is familiar, by now, once he gets over the grief. (It turns out you _can_ still grieve someone who’s still alive.)

“That was two weeks ago,” Callum finishes, his voice steady but low. A sharp edge he doesn’t recognize in it, but he supposes that’s what happens when the girl you love with your whole entire being breaks your heart because she loves you in a way that’s equally as painful and encompassing. “So now I’m here, looking for her. But I figured I should make a stop in the Silvergrove first. You—you’re her dad. You have a right to know.”

Ethari exhales slowly, processing, his face pinched and more worried, and resigned, than ever before. He stares into the shining surface of his tea, his own eyes glistening. “She’s always had too much of Runaan in her,” he notes, the corners of his mouth twitching helplessly. And as much as Callum doesn’t want to see it, a piece of one of the people he hates the most in one of the people he loves the most, he can. “And too much of me,” Ethari reflects. “It’s a terrible combination.” 

“She’s _perfect_ ,” Callum corrects, snapping before he can stop himself. “She’s just lost and grieving and guilty, she’s—” 

Stubborn, difficult, secretive and impatient. A real pain in the ass, sometimes. She lied to him (because she was tired) and left him (because she’s dedicated to the point of folly) and broke his heart (because she loves him; because she’s _scared_ ) and all of those things can—and do coexist—in the battleground she’s turned his heart into. But he wouldn’t be bleeding out like this if he didn’t _love_ her, and there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s not too much of anything. If anything, she just doesn’t value herself _enough_ . He’ll be angry at her later, too, but he just wants to find her _alive,_ first. She’s alone, and _she doesn’t have to be_.

He can’t stop his cheeks from heating, either, when he realizes how much he’s revealed himself, and Ethari’s expression shifts.

He loves her, and now Ethari knows it too.

Callum swallows hard. “I’m going to find her,” he says quietly, looking away for a moment.

Ethari purses his lips. “Xadia is large. Most elves still aren’t friendly to humans. You’ll need a guide or an escort, at the very least. There’s a town not far from here, northeast. Tarrey. You might be able to find a guide there.”

Callum nods, committing the info to memory. Hopefully he can find a Skywing elf who can fly and they can move as quickly as possible. But he knows that Ethari has also put together the other piece of his plan. “And you’ll stay here, and look after her flower?”

Ethari nods. “I promise.”

“Good.” Callum digs around in his coat pocket and pulls out two silver coins. “I bought these communicator coins. If you tap it, the other will light up.” He holds one out to Ethari and puts the second back in his pocket. “If her flower changes or—” Gods, he hates that it’s even a possibility. “Or starts to sink—”

“I’ll let you know,” Ethari says, taking the coin. He holds onto it like it’s revolting and a lifeline all at once. “And there are some things you should have, before you go.”

Callum downs the last of his tea and then follows Ethari when he rises. They go down an unfamiliar hall, past a staircase, and then to the one room he recognizes: the craftsman’s workshop. Ethari moves to the weapons on the wall, all glittering in the low light, and pulls down a curved, silver dagger.

“A moonlight scimitar,” he says, holding it out to Callum. The white hilt is adorned with tiny golden jewels. It’s gorgeous, and feels perfectly weighed in his hand, which none of the swords back in Katolis ever did. “And these.” Ethari turns and opens up a drawer in one of the tables and takes out two moon opals, each on their own necklace chain. “They’re good at casting or seeing through illusions, and the containers of each opal swing open.” He taps the tiny glass ovals set over each of them with an artificial sheen, practicality favoured the ornateness of the one Rayla had worn. “You can use a little bit of the opal’s powder at a time instead of all at once.” Ethari gestures to the scimitar and the opals. “I was making these for a few other elves, but you need them more.”

Callum slips the scimitar into his satchel—it feels surprisingly good to be armed—and loops the moon opals around his neck and under his jacket. “Thank you,” he says. These are by far the most useful things Ethari could have given him, but he knows they’re not really _for_ him. They’re for Rayla.

Ethari’s brow creases. “Would you like to see her flower, before you go?”

His throat dries. Maybe the hot tea had been a bad idea. “If it won’t cause too much trouble.”

Ethari checks the front entrance first to see how many elves are meandering alone, and then comes and beckons him along as he deems it safe. They go down to the pool together. The water is blue and still, and there’s her flower, glowing softly. It doesn’t give him the sense of peace Callum though it would. It just makes his heart ache. But still, he’s here, and there’s no turning back now as he and Ethari stand by the pool.

“Runaan left me behind too,” Ethari says quietly but Callum hears what he doesn’t say: _I don’t know why I’m still alive, when it means living without him._ His husband and best friends in four months. Now his daughter twice over.

Callum gets over the awkwardness and claps him on the elbow, because he understands, as much as anyone else could. “Thank you, Ethari,” he repeats and they step away to part.

Ethari gives him the ghost of a smile. “Bring her home,” he says, and Callum can feel him watch him walk away, back the way he had come.

The forest envelopes him in the night. The opals bump lightly against his chest, almost over his heart. Callum wipes at his face one last time.

He will, or he’ll die trying.


End file.
